The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,28
side. You do not want to get on my bad side.”
“Dear God, I was right. I have married a domineering martinet,” she complained.
“Too late now.” He wheeled around and strode across the room in quick economical strides that reminded her of a panther’s gait. She figured he could pounce like one, too, if need be. Then he paused at the door to smile devilishly at her. “I forgot to ask if you changed your mind and decided to spend the night with me. It is our wedding night.”
“Thank you, but no.” She faked a smile. “You have done enough already.”
His expression sobered in the blink of an eye. “I meant what I said, Anna Jones. Do not leave without me.”
She blew out her breath in exasperation. “All right. We will ride out after we check on Bart and have breakfast.”
She wasn’t sure he believed her, but he left nonetheless.
Van paced restlessly in Bart’s suite, unsure he trusted Natalie to stay put. He checked the hallway at regular intervals, expecting to see her exit quietly from her room.
“You plan on doing this all night?” Bart asked as he dipped the cloth in the basin of cold water Natalie left on the end table, then applied the compress to his puffy eye. “You’re making me dizzy with your pacing and I have enough problems as it is.”
Van jerked to a halt, unaware that he’d been wearing a rut in the carpet. “I expect her to leave, clinging to the ridiculous notion that I’ll come to harm if I go with her. If, indeed, that’s the real reason my secretive wife wants to skip town without me. Damn it, why won’t she confide in us? It makes me suspicious as hell.”
“Me, too,” Bart remarked, then gestured toward his injured arm. “Are you going to replace the bandage? Or am I supposed to do it while you pace and fret like a mother hen?”
Van glared at him. “I’m not fretting. I never fret.”
“Seems to me that it would require less energy to bunk down inside her door. You are married to the woman, after all. Propriety is hardly in question here.”
Van lurched around to place a fresh bandage on Bart’s upper arm. “For all I know, she fed me a crock of lies and there is no greedy stepfather or ex-fiancé trying to find her. Maybe she shot someone or swindled somebody out of the money she stashed in her clothing. The fact that she counted out large denomination bank notes to pay me arouses more doubt and suspicions.”
Bart’s brows shot up in surprise and Van nodded. “She has money up her sleeves and in the hem of her gowns. She is also very aware of where her satchels are at all times. It has to mean something. Plus, she won’t let me see the license after she signed her name.”
“She is as tight-lipped as a clam,” Bart agreed, then winced when Van touched a tender section of the wound unintentionally. “I tried to cajole her into confiding in me, but she refused, claiming it was for your own good and mine.”
“I tried to intimidate her into confiding in me, too, but she sassed me,” Van grumbled. “Damn woman. She’s as stubborn as she is independent.” He suddenly bounded to his feet and lurched toward the sitting room. “I’m going to check on her. I think I’ll take your advice and camp out at her door. Maybe I can get some sleep.”
“You do that. Meanwhile, I’ll be here nursing a wounded arm, black eye and split lip. As for you, you married an elusive woman harboring only God knows how many dangerous secrets that might recoil and bite us in the ass. Oh, and congratulations to you for marrying trouble, Van. It keeps life interesting, to say the least.”
Van poked his head around the bedroom door, glared at Bart and said, “You are not as funny as you think you are. And, thus far, I see nothing to recommend married life.”
Bart snickered as he settled himself comfortably in bed. “You should have married a pushover. If you’d have had a traditional wedding night, you’d be in better spirits.”
Van walked away, scowling.
Exotic fantasies tormented him while he tried to sleep outside her door—his pistol at the ready, in case trouble showed up. Luckily, no one wandered by to wonder if he had been kicked out on his wedding night.
Even though Van didn’t trust his mysterious, secretive wife, he wanted her. Only her. That bothered him.